What would happen when they dug deeper?
When they started asking questions about who I was and where I'd come from?
Would someone recognize my face?
Would they connect Ember Harrison to Amber Hensley?
Would everything I'd built come crashing down again?
Clara vanished and when she returned, she had a bottle of water which she pressed into my hands. "Drink. You'll feel better."
I obeyed, taking small sips while she stood beside me like she was my mother, hoping to comfort me.
The other tenants had moved to a different part of the building, giving us space, and the television continued its broadcast, oblivious to my panic.
"You know what I think?" Clara said after a long moment.
"What?"
"I think you're braver than you realize." She folded her hands in her lap. "You're standing up there in front of everyone, representing something important, even though it terrifies you. That takes courage."
"I don't feel brave," I admitted. "I feel trapped."
"Those two things aren't mutually exclusive." She smiled gently. "Sometimes, being brave means doing the thing that scares you most."
I looked at her, this woman I barely knew, who was offering me comfort and wisdom without asking for explanations. "Thank you, Clara."
"You're welcome, dear." She patted my knee again. "Now, do you want to keep cleaning up or should we call it a day?"
I glanced at the puddle on the floor, then at the doorways still waiting to be cleaned.
My hands had stopped shaking, and my breathing had returned to normal.
The panic was still there, lurking beneath the surface, but Clara's presence had dulled its edges.
"Let's finish," I said, pushing myself to my feet. "I could use the distraction."
We worked together to clean the remaining doorways and I focused on the task in front of me, not the TV down the hall running an infomercial about garage doors.
But the feeling of dread refused to leave.
If I told Amelia about this, she'd know what to say, but then the last time we spoke, she'd surprised me by saying the opposite of what I thought she'd say.
My whole world felt upside down and I didn’t know how to right it.
If Nathan Bradley didn't get out from under my skin, I felt like this was going to turn out worse than San Diego.
6
NATE
I adjusted my bowtie in the mirror for the third time, trying to convince myself the angle was correct.
The black tuxedo fit perfectly—tailored last year precisely for occasions like this—but tonight it felt constricting.
The annual hospital gala was always a marathon of forced smiles, strategic conversations with donors, and speeches that dragged on far too long.
I'd attended eight of these events over the years, and each one blurred together into a monotonous parade of handshakes and hollow pleasantries.
